


Near Merthyr Mawr

by Mallory_Clayborne



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Daisy is important to Anton okay y’all, Dead Men, M/M, Quite a lot of it, The death is not in the fic, The death of larrikin, barely anything romantic, just a couple of guys being dudes, nothing sexy, so take that how you want, the death has already happened, the funeral is in the fic, the war - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 12:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallory_Clayborne/pseuds/Mallory_Clayborne
Summary: Larrikin sacrifices himself for Dexter Vex. A Dead Man dies. Anton Shudder weeps for the first time in years.





	Near Merthyr Mawr

Four of them sat around the fire. Saracen was looking into the flickering flames, thinking about the movement of the heat and not understanding whether fire was tangible or not. He figured the Elementals probably understood better than him. Ghastly was next, bringing the smoke from the fire away from the group and onto the meat that was resting, having just been seared. It wasn’t his turn to cook, but he’d taken over given the events of the day. A little further round was Dexter, usually the one to be encouraging conversation, sat like a man who’d given up on everything with his eyes cast down. He’d barely said a word in hours, something extremely unusual indeed. Erskine was by his side, talking a little bit to, but mostly at, Dex, keeping him a step back from the precipice of the void in his mind. Erskine was also in charge of managing the fire, encouraging it when it faded and curtailing it when it roared. 

Skulduggery was half a mile out, a silent sentry, not needing food or warmth, and not caring much for companionship. Occasionally he shifted after standing in one, utterly still position for fifteen minutes, which was enough entertainment for this bottleneck of the woods. His skull stayed dark and shaded, as even the moonlight wasn’t desperate enough to fight that far through the canopy of dead trees and deader birds’ nests.

Half a mile in the other way, Shudder sat, back against a tree, breathing shallowly with tears sliding down his cheeks. Every now and then, pain would coalesce in the back of his throat and escape him in a low keen, the pitch just enough to cut the night and let the others at the fire know he was still there and still broken. 

Ghastly looked over at Saracen and didn’t have to say anything for Saracen to know what he would have said. Saracen stood and moved the short distance over to Ghastly, opening the bag behind him and getting out mess tins and cutlery, keeping a normal night going.  
“Erskine, Dex, food,” said Ghastly, dampening the fire slightly with his free hand so he could be easily heard over the crackling. Erskine nodded and nudged Dexter, who was a million miles away from the camp and didn’t respond. Meat and potatoes, slightly more than usual for them all, if they could stomach it. Someone had to go and get Shudder, hardly a palatable idea, but Erskine took it upon himself and motioned for Saracen to come over and remain with Dexter. Erskine held up his hand and read the air, then began walking west towards the movement he sensed. It was a seven minute walk to where Shudder was, consumed by the darkness, all of his usual ominous power and presence gone.  
“It’s just me, Anton. We’re having dinner, coming back to the fire? I could bring it here, if you-“  
“Shudder,” interrupted Shudder quietly, his voice devoid of inflection.  
“Hm?”  
“You called me Shudder before. It was never you who decided to call me Anton. So you still call me Shudder.” His tone wasn’t poisonous, but Erskine still felt a little colder as he sensed a friendship decaying.  
“Ghastly cooked. There’s beef, and russets, it smells pretty good. You’ve not eaten, you need to. We’re moving camp tomorrow.” Shudder made no immediate acknowledgement, but after a few seconds, stood up, and Erskine realised his shirt was open. No, it was torn: Shudder had come straight here after they’d made it back, he hadn’t changed and - with a slight lurch of Erskine’s heart - therefore would still be coated in blood, which was only obscured by the darkness for the moment. Erskine said nothing else, checked he was facing the right way, and led them back towards the fire.

Saracen and Ghastly had begun eating when Erskine and Shudder emerged from the trees. Ghastly put his food down and went over to the provisions remaining in the pots, portioning some out for each of the returning Dead Men. Two servings remained. Dexter hadn’t moved at all in the last twenty minutes. Skulduggery didn’t need to eat. Erskine took a tin, but Shudder sat on a log set back from the fire and Ghastly took his over to him.  
“Try and eat something,” Ghastly said, noticing the scarlet splatters coating Shudder.  
“Want me to get the blood off?”  
Shudder looked as if he hadn’t even heard the question, but then nodded slowly. Ghastly brought his hand towards Shudder and water drenched the Adept, squirming around on his skin and in his clothes like it was a living being. Ghastly moved his hand away and the water rose off of Shudder, before Ghastly dropped it on the grass behind him. He repeated the process a few more times until the water was lifting off clear, and then dried the remaining dampness clinging to Shudder. Shudder looked at Ghastly and nodded, who smiled gently in response. Shudder made no movement towards picking up his food, and Ghastly said nothing. Dexter was also not eating. Saracen looked a little like he was about to start crying.

“We should talk. We need to talk,” said Erskine, breaking the silence that had defended over the camp as everyone either ate or brooded. Ghastly looked at him.  
“Perhaps we should wait until morning. And Skulduggery should be here,” he said, challenging Erskine.  
“It has to be now, or none of us will sleep at all. We won’t sleep much regardless, but we have no choice but to move tomorrow, so as much rest as possible would be preferable.”  
“He’s probably right,” said Saracen. “There’s a lot to be said, better to have it open. We can’t drift apart in challenging times.”  
“Alright,” conceded Ghastly, “talk. Talk, Erskine.” Erskine swallowed.

“Today was a shitshow. We found Serpine and he escaped. Not only that, he showed himself to be as powerful as ever. He got this close to killing Dexter,” Dexter flinched, “and he…” his voice lowered slightly, “he took Larrikin away from us. Serpine did this. Fortunately, we - mostly Shudder - decimated the section of Mevolent’s remaining army that Serpine has control of, so now he’s practically alone. He’s low on resources. If and when we find him again, we’ll take him down. He won’t stand a chance. The Dead Men cannot be stopped.”  
“Strike from the shadows,” replied Saracen.  
“Disappear into darkness,” finished Ghastly. Shudder’s head had dropped lower during the speech, but Dexter had looked up at Erskine, who sat down next to him.

“Hey,” said Erskine softly to Dexter, threading his hand into Dex’s, “ready to talk now? Eat, maybe?”  
Dexter cleared his throat. “Better. Don’t wanna eat yet, though. Throat hurts,” he looked up at Erskine, the eye contact calming. Erskine’s eyes could do that.  
“So here we go. You’ve probably told yourself this already, because you aren’t thick, but you can’t help it. Do not blame yourself for this.” Erskine enunciated the last six words clearly. Dexter sighed, and then rolled his neck in a circle, his vertebrae clicking.  
“I know. It’s his death. He chose to do it. I can respect that, I have to. But still. I feel guilty. And then I’m mourning, too, because it’s not some stranger who died for me. It was Larrikin.”  
“Anton’s asked to be called Shudder again. He’s very, very upset. Like, I’ve never seen him like this upset. And,” Erskine looked at Shudder, who was paying them no attention, but dropped his voice slightly, “He’s going to be angry at you. He’s going to blame you. And he’s smart enough to know you don’t deserve it, and he’ll get over it… but he’s human enough to not be able to help it.”  
Dexter’s voice trembled slightly. “I could really do without Shudder ripping me to pieces.” Erskine squeezed his hand.  
“You’re an energy thrower. He won’t get that close.”

Four hours later, the fire had burnt almost entirely down and five of the living Dead Men were asleep. All light sleepers at the best of times, Dexter woke every few minutes, spending most of the night in a groggy haze. Shudder lay on his back, staring at the stars. He knew he would still be crying if he had any fluid left in him. A twig snapped over in the distance and he sluggishly looked over, seeing a glowing light at chest height: Skulduggery, walking back over with a fiery beacon curled in his hand. Shudder untangled himself from his sleeping bag, slung Daisy over his back, and went to greet the watchman.  
“It’s dead for miles outside the camp,” Skulduggery said with no greeting, “moving tomorrow should cause no problems. Is Dexter still in one piece?”  
Shudder smiled with no humour. “Indeed. I am not an uncontrollable monster.”  
“No. But the monster inside you is.”  
Shudder smiled again. It was cold and grim. Skulduggery probably understood how Shudder felt best of all the Dead Men. And they dealt with things in similar ways. 

An initial burst of anger. Hostile bodies strewn across the battlefield, the gist screeching in anguish in a way the others had never heard before. Blood and guts and broken shards of broken bones coating the Gist, dripping slowly off its oily visage, anything in splatter range coating Shudder. God-knows-what made its way into his mouth and he swallowed it all, tasting the death of those who had hurt him and relishing in it. Blood tasted different to pulverised flesh tasted different to spinal fluid, and for the first time, Shudder understood the Gist. Understood what it got from the murder and the violence. Shudder dropped to his knees and his scream mixed with that of the Gist, and he was so close to leaving it out, but in the mud now devoid of life the gist scrabbled desperately for something to cling onto. There was nothing left. It made the sounds of a tortured animal as Shudder dragged it into his chest, nothing physical left on it being allowed in, so all the remains still clinging to the Gist painted Shudder in more red and pink. Then he was alone, knelt in the justified mess he’d made, the wind blowing and the other Dead Men stood far back, wondering if their friend had always been capable of being this monstrous. Miraculously, Shudder stood and walked shakily across the battlefield, the disgusting squelch threatening, but not quite managing, to make him snap into the reality of what he’d just done. Six hundred metres away lay who he was looking for. Larrikin, a picture of agonising death, lay still, no blood having coated him from this distance. Shudder lay down next to him and passed out.

A descent into despair. Shudder had woken maybe an hour later, the Dead Men sitting nearby. He’d looked at them, and they’d looked at him, and he began to cry. The others cast their eyes down, like they felt they shouldn’t be seeing this. Like this was too private, coming from too deep inside Shudder to be shared. Only Skulduggery didn’t look away. Shudder took a deep breath, and held the tears for a second, his eyes brimming with them. He looked at Skulduggery, making eye contact as best he could, and water ran over the gunk of smashed enemies on Shudder’s hands until they were clean. He nodded and turned to Larrikin, interlacing the fingers of their left hands together and carding through Larrikin’s bright ginger hair with his right. Shudder spent five minutes like that, before slowly taking his hands away from Larrikin’s cooling body. Erskine stood and went to pick Larrikin up with the air but Ghastly tapped his leg, stood up himself, walked to Larrikin and picked him up physically, holding him like a child. When the group made it to where they’d left their horses, only three hadn’t been killed by Serpine’s forces, and two of the remaining were clearly in serious pain. Saracen shot them both. Skulduggery boosted Shudder onto the horse with the air, and he sat with Larrikin’s body in his arms with the Elementals supporting the two of them so they didn’t fall.

A realisation that the sadness had only covered up the burning anger that had begun to settle deep inside. Shudder sighed.  
“Are you coming back to the camp, or going back out to the sentry point?”  
“Well, if anything bothers coming here at this point of the night, after what’s happened near these parts today,” Skulduggery watched Shudder’s face for any change, but he remained emotionless, “it’s just asking to be punched in the throat. We need new horses, since we’re down to one between six. How about we take the poor remaining one into town and bring back some more?”  
“Mortal village?”  
“Yes. I’ll stay on the outskirts, if you’ll go in?” Anton nodded and together, he and Skulduggery walked towards the last horse, hitched maybe fifty metres from the sleeping soldiers. Skulduggery carried on into the camp, kneeling next to Ghastly and shaking him gently awake before muttering to him what was going on. When he came back to Shudder, Shudder had already pulled himself up onto the horse. Skulduggery undid the rope and climbed behind Shudder, who turned maybe a little too sharply and set off to the village maybe a little too quickly.

It was half an hour’s ride and the sun was just beginning to conquer the moon’s territory as Shudder and Skulduggery came into view of Merthyr Mawr. Shudder pulled the horse to a stop, and Skulduggery got off.  
“I’ll wait here,” he said, passing a bag of money up to Shudder. “See what you can get. Ghastly needs the biggest, you next. I’m lighter than I look. Will you be alright if they don’t speak English?”  
“I’ll find out when I get there,” Shudder replied, already starting the last stretch towards the village. Skulduggery watched him until he couldn’t see him any more, and went and stood behind a tree.

Shudder hitched the horse outside what appeared to be the village Post Office, climbed down and went inside. The clerk greeted him in Welsh, and Shudder cursed internally.  
“I need… I need to buy some horse. New horse. Several?”  
“You mean animals, or meat?”  
“Live.”  
“There’s a stables that will do for you on the east side of town. You’re looking for Daffyd.”  
“Ask Daffyd?”  
“Yes. Here,” the clerk came out from behind the desk, opened the door, and pointed east. Shudder nodded.  
“Uh… thanks to you.”  
“You’re welcome. Are you English?”  
“Irish.”  
The clerk laughed, and in Gaelic, repeated what he’d told Shudder a few seconds ago. Shudder’s cheeks threatened him with colouring but he didn’t have enough space in his heart to feel anything new at the moment. Shudder thanked him, more fluidly this time, and left, heading in the direction he’d been told. The stables were relatively big for a small town, and Shudder pushed the door open. It was heavy and creaked slightly.  
“Can I help you?” called a man, in Welsh, from the back of the stables.  
“Do you speak Gaelic?”  
“Just Welsh and English,” came the reply. Shudder took the coward’s way out and used English from then on.  
“My friends and I are looking to buy some horses. Five if you have them. Two of us are particularly heavily built.“  
“You came looking to buy five horses at once from a village like this?” The man had made his way to the front of the stables by then, standing in front of Shudder with hay clinging to his clothes. It was harder than usual for Shudder to be his usual respectful self.  
“My… apologies for the inconvenience. We can pay you extra.”  
“And you’re taking all of them along by yourself?”  
“Are my arrangements of that much concern?” Shudder questioned back, perhaps a little too sharply. The man sucked his teeth but shrugged, and went towards the stalls, beckoning Shudder. There were ten, of which seven were occupied. The owner went through their ages and temperaments with Shudder, and eventually he decided on the five he’d take, including one particularly arrogant one the stablemaster warned him against. She was for him. Shudder considered that perhaps he was doing it out of self-spite, but he didn’t really care. Maybe it was unnecessary, but he didn’t want a calm horse to have to suffer him as a rider. Shudder paid the owner, and led three of the horses out of the stables, taking them to Skulduggery and returning for the other two, including his own. When he made it back to the edge of the village for the second time, the sun had risen higher in the sky, probably about eight o’clock. The two rode back to camp, each leading two other horses.

Erskine was scrambling eggs and Ghastly reheating the remaining potatoes when they heard horses enter the perimeter. Most of their equipment had been gathered up, Saracen collecting the remaining things and sorting them into piles that may have made sense to him. Dexter was nowhere to be seen. Dismounting and lashing the horses he had to trees, Skulduggery strode over to Ghastly.  
“Successful?” he said, without looking up from the warming food.  
“In terms of horses, yes. Shudder isn’t well, though,” Skulduggery answered, putting out a stray ember that rolled out onto the grass.  
“What can we expect? He must be devastated,” Ghastly removed the pan from the heat and set it down nearby, “and we can barely stop to breathe. As soon as we’ve eaten, and buried Larrikin, we need to leave. As much as it was useful that Anton absolutely slaughtered Serpine’s men…”  
“Others will have been told and will come looking for us,” Skulduggery finished. “I need to get news from Meritorious. How close do you think he is to this truce he seems to want?” Dexter emerged from the woods, carrying a large bucket.  
“I don’t know, and to be honest Skul, it won’t do you any good to know. We find Serpine, and any of the others, and we take them out. As soon as we can.”  
Erskine took the eggs away from the fire, presumably cooked, and gestured Dexter towards him. Dex tipped the bucket over the fire. It was full of water, and the remaining glow went out. Saracen came over and the ones who needed to began to eat. Shudder still hadn’t returned from the horses.  
“Erskine,” Skulduggery said in a low voice, “why did Dexter get water to douse the fire? He does know that we’re all magic?”  
Erskine smiled sadly. “Something for him to do. Shockingly, he’s not looking forward to the burial. The ride away from here will do him good, but until then, I don’t want him getting lost in his own head.” Skulduggery nodded, and waited for the others to be done eating, leaving Shudder in whatever space he needed for himself.

Shudder’s knuckles were bruised and bleeding, splinters sticking out of him and being driven deeper into his hands with every punch. Sometimes it was too much and he cried out, but mostly he just breathed, hard and heavy. The tree’s bark had cracked and some had fallen, complaining against Shudder’s onslaught. It had maybe been an hour now, and it hadn’t all been self-destructive - he’d calmed his new horse a little, naming her Ailbe. She was twenty metres away, eating the grass around her own tree, and didn’t seem remotely interested in Shudder’s pain. He respected that. There was a rustle in the foliage nearby, and Shudder lowered his hands, listening. It hadn’t sounded like horse movement.

“Where the hell did Dexter go?” Saracen called to Erskine as he secured his sleeping roll to his horse.  
“No idea,” replied Erskine with a sigh, “told me he was going to piss but he’s been gone fifteen minutes now. I’ll go and find him in a few if he doesn’t come back.”

Shudder heard the rustling again and contemplated calling out, but decided against it. If it was a remaining straggler of Serpine’s who’d miraculously escaped the gist, Shudder was giving him no advantages. He crept as silently as a man of his stature could towards Ailbe, taking Daisy from her back and putting her on his. He crouched and stayed still, the rustling getting closer every few seconds. An Adept, he assumed, or they’d be able to hide their approach. And by the non-continuous noise, they were sneaking. Bastard. Fortunately, there was a tree between Shudder and the approacher, so Shudder knew they were there, but they might not yet know Shudder was there. Perfect. Footsteps now, not rustling. They’d emerged into the space near Ailbe, behind the trees Shudder was hidden by. Shudder took a long, quiet breath, hoping they were as far into the clearing as he thought, and jumped up, using the tree to help him throw his body around and crashed into his would-be attacker, and they went down together before Shudder threw his elbow sharply down into their jaw. The man underneath put one hand against Shudder’s right wrist and guarded his face with the other.  
“Anton!” Dexter yelled, but Shudder’s free palm slammed into Dexter’s temple and Dexter gasped in pain. The street fighter used his hips to force Shudder off him, twisting with one hand still gripping Shudder’s wrist and pulling the dark-haired man underneath him. Shudder immediately threw himself as far across the ground as he could so he didn’t get stuck beneath Dexter and slammed his forearm into the ground, wincing as the splinters from the tree were forced deeper into his flesh, Dexter’s grip around his wrist springing open and the two men got up. Dexter was faster and grabbed both of Shudder’s shoulders, pulling him down and slamming a knee into his abdomen, just below his sternum. Shudder grunted and doubled over, but straightened up sharply and the back of his head cracked into Dexter’s chin. Dexter cursed and stepped backwards, a hand flying up to his jaw, while Shudder dragged air into his lungs, waiting for the lights that had exploded behind his eyes to clear, then watched the energy-thrower. They made eye contact and held it, like two wild animals, waiting for the other to move so they could strike. Dexter began to raise his hands so they were open in front of him, a gesture of surrender. Shudder, however, stayed still.  
“Goddamn, Shudder, sorry I didn’t tell you it was me. I didn’t want anyone in the forest, maybe, if they were here, to overhear me and know we were still-“ Dexter’s eyes widened and he dropped straight to his knees as Shudder moved faster than Dexter had seen in a long time, pulling Daisy from his back and putting her stock against his shoulder. She was pointed at Dexter.  
“That,” Shudder said quietly, “was a terrible fucking idea.”  
“I know. I also didn’t want to disturb you, in case you were in a state like you were in last night-“ Shudder’s finger twitched on the trigger guard, and Dexter changed the subject. “I just came to talk to you. I’m sorry for fighting back, but I didn’t want to risk the gist. Put the gun away, Shudder. We’re friends. You’d regret this for a long fucking time.”  
Shudder stayed completely still for a long few seconds, before he lowered the shotgun.  
“Talk, Vex. You have one minute.”  
Dexter swallowed. 

“What happened yesterday wasn’t fucking fair. We were doing everything right, we did everything we normally did, protecting each other, covering for reloads, coordinating magic, waiting for Skul’s signal for you. But we made a mistake. We didn’t think Serpine would have a teleporter in his splinter ranks. But we don’t always know everything - Saracen feels like shit, by the way - and that’s the way it is. You know that’s the way it is. Erskine remembered his name, so we can find him and take him out. War isn’t fair, and sometimes the worst happens. I,“ Dexter paused for a second, took a deep breath, “I am so sorry for what happened to Larrikin. But you know he did it because he wanted to. He didn’t deserve it, I didn’t deserve saving, for God’s sake, but it’s what Larrikin thought was right, and so for all it’s worth, I’m incredibly thankful to him. I know you hate me right now. You hate the world, don’t you? I don’t know exactly what you feel, but I know it hurts like hell. Just please don’t give up. Please don’t stop being a Dead Man. We all need you, Anton, we all need each other - that’s how it works.”

The two looked at each other, and after a moment, there was a low noise, and it took Dexter a second to realise it was coming from Shudder. He was dangerously close to hyperventilating, and Dexter rose until he was standing, stepping over to Shudder and putting an arm around his shoulder. Daisy clattered to the floor and Dexter was incredibly grateful she didn’t go off. Shudder made no motion to push Dexter away, so Dexter stepped in closer and pulled Shudder in tightly, squeezing him in his strong arms. Shudder let his head fall onto Dexter’s shoulder and sobbed, a swirling mess in his heart, and they stood like that for ten minutes. They didn’t notice, or at least didn’t care, when five minutes in Erskine and Saracen approached from the camp. 

The sun was overhead but there was still a biting chill in the air. The Dead Men were stood in a small semi-circle, Shudder thigh-deep in a grave he’d been digging for the last twenty minutes. Skulduggery lifted soil Shudder dislodged onto the solid ground beside them, but Shudder was allowing no more aid than that. He was sweating slightly with exertion, breathing hard, but he’d made good work of it and was effectively finished. He was wearing the clothes he’d been in yesterday, that the gist had torn, planning to abandon them here once he climbed back out of the earth. Skulduggery flexed his fingers and some earth crumbled around the top edge of the hole, neatening one of the edges. He repeated the process thrice more and while he did, Shudder pushed himself out of the grave and shook his hands over it, a shower of soil falling from him and catching in Skulduggery’s motions, being pulled to the pile at the side. Larrikin lay nearby, dressed in all-white that Ghastly had pieced together while Saracen had led the dismantling of camp. Someone had closed his eyes, Shudder thought, gazing at the body blankly, numbness consuming him. Shudder felt his hands dampen and a stream of cold water was running over them when he looked down. Most of the earth still clinging to him ran off, and when he came closer to Erskine, the Elemental clicked and Shudder’s hands began to dry. Saracen broke rank and moved to Shudder, holding a clean shirt and jeans. Erskine kept a flame burning whilst Shudder changed as quickly as he could, leaving the ruined clothes on the ground for now, and when he was done he took his holster, bandolier and coat from Ghastly with a murmured thanks. They were all dressed to leave now, and Shudder took his place in the semi-circle, flanked by Saracen and Ghastly. Dexter was settling a large piece of white fabric in the bottom of the grave, and when he was done, he returned to his place. There was quiet for a moment, before Erskine began to speak.

“We hoped we’d never have this sort of day again, but war is an unpredictable beast, and it rarely goes the way we want it to.” Erskine paused for a second, and stepped forwards, turning to face his friends. “Larrikin died for us. He fought for us, and he’s died for us. We all say we’d die for each other, but we also all hope it doesn’t come to it. It’s come to it, and Larrikin bravely kept all the promises we’ve made and I can’t say I’m surprised he did. He was loyal, devoted to the light, to the good we try to be, and we are honoured by his sacrifice.” Erskine was silent for a moment and swallowed hard. They were all watching him, with the exception of Shudder. His eyes were fixed on Larrikin, trying desperately to commit every single freckle to memory. “For Larrikin’s sake, we see this through to the end. Mevolent is dead, Vile is dead, the Baron is captured and Serpine is panicking. The end is in sight, and it’s awful that Larrikin won’t be there with us when we get there, but we will nonetheless. His sacrifice is not in vain. We’re all too damn stubborn to let it be.” Erskine blew air from between his lips, and stepped back into his place in the semi-circle. The Dead Men stood in silence for a minute, before Skulduggery began to speak.  
“Larrikin and Hopeless. Good men. Strong resolves, highly skilled, morally competent. Dead Men, through and through.” He walked around the back of the grave so he was stood next to Larrikin’s head. “Anything else, anyone? Shudder?” Suddenly Shudder felt several sets of eyes on him and realised he hadn’t planned for this moment at all. Of course he should say something. This would be the last chance he’d get, the last chance before this field in rural Wales claimed Larrikin and the rest of them moved on. Shudder wouldn’t move on equally, but then, he didn’t want to. Quietly, he began.  
“Maybe I sound… pathetic. Childish,” he paused, a lump quickly forming in his throat, “but it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that Larrikin is the one to die in the endgame. Of us all, he is,” he stopped again, “he was, the best. We are all monsters, but Larrikin was different. And he died in pain, now, not even on purpose, he wasn’t supposed to die-“ Shudder felt his voice rising, so he stopped talking. The others expected him to continue, but a minute went by and nobody spoke another word. 

Eventually, Skulduggery broke the silence.  
“Bespoke, Ravel, if you would.” Ghastly and Erskine stepped forwards and together the three Elementals flexed their palms and Larrikin rose from the ground, until he was about thirty centimetres up, and then he began to move sideways until he was over his grave. Skulduggery was the first to move his hands and the other two followed suit, causing Larrikin to sink slowly into the ground. They lay him down at the bottom as gently as Shudder had ever seen them do anything, and they stepped aside towards the pile of earth. Dexter, Saracen and Shudder all came closer, looking into the grave, seeing their friend for the last time. Erskine gently tapped Shudder’s wrist, and the Adept looked up to see Erskine gesturing at the remaining piece of white fabric lying nearby. Shudder nodded slowly and walked to it, picking it up and returned to the graveside, kneeling down and leaning in. He let one end of the fabric fall in, swathing Larrikin’s body, and when he was certain he could have told someone exactly how many freckles dotted the poor boy’s face, he let the other side drop, blanketing the corpse. He was trembling. Shudder stayed knelt for a few minutes or so, and then Ghastly came and crouched next to him.  
“We need to fill the earth and get going, Shudder. Would you like to throw a handful?” Shudder wished there was no decision to be made, wished he could stay still and silent and not move out and have to acknowledge everything, but he was more sensible than that. He stood, his knees clicking softly, and moved around to the pile of soil, clasping a handful and thinking every protective spell and sigil he’d ever heard a rumour of. He held his hand out over the grave and opened his fingers, the earth falling from his palm and onto the white fabric at the bottom of the grave. Shudder brushed his hands together, and turned away.

Dexter did most of the physical filling of the grave. The Elementals pushed straggling sections of soil in with the air, but there seemed to be a mutual understanding about how this should largely be magic-free work. Saracen was checking the Quartermaster’s list, which jokingly said at the top ‘All Seven Dead Men’ in Erskine’s characteristic swirls. Saracen’s eyes kept flicking back up to it, unable to ignore how much it was hurting him, and surely, them all. Shudder was sat on the ground near to the grave, watching blankly as the last crumbs of earth were put back where they came from. When they were done, Dexter took the shovel apart and went to attach it where it belonged on his saddle. Saracen passed Ghastly the map, who held it open. Erskine took a pen from his breast pocket and, checking the compass that Saracen showed him, marked a small cross on the map in the corner of the field they currently stood. The last thing they had to do was done; the Dead Men had a mission, and the mission continued elsewhere. Skulduggery waved the others towards the horses and walked over to Shudder. The skeleton looked down.  
“We have to leave, Shudder. You know we do.” Shudder gave a low hum in response and put his hands behind him, pushing himself up with less ease than usual. He looked at Skulduggery, who tilted his head curiously, but said nothing and began the last walk he’d take here over to Ailbe. The others were mounted, reins in hand, and Shudder swung himself up, settling back into the saddle and tugging the leather reins into his grip. Skulduggery was the last to join them, of course using the air to mount his steed, and the six Dead Men were in formation, ready to ride out as they always were. Skulduggery gave the signal and they fell into rank, six sets of hooves thundering on the path. Shudder didn’t look back, and the wind stung his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. More fics on the way. I love me some Shuddderkin. Not beta read; feel free to correct me, it doesn’t offend. Sorry for being so depressing ✌🏻✌🏻


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